At first I thought I would feel ashamed for having made Amp’s appointment with the butcher. I was glad that we had time to bide, as the next slaughter date isn’t until January. After this morning, I’m no longer as hesitant. In fact, I wish the date were sooner.
When I pet the girls, he grumps. When I pick them up, he flaps. When I’m outside anywhere near him, he gives me the stink eye. He’s an eight pound ticking time bomb who, thankfully, has yet to grow spurs.